Slip of the Tongue
by DigitalWerewolf
Summary: Tim really needs to be careful what he says around Tony. Tim/Tony.


**Disclaimer** **:** NCIS and all related characters are the property of CBS.

 **Note** **:** Just a stupid... thing, I originally published on Archive of Our Own, but liked it enough to bring it here. Enjoy.

" _Please_ , can we just drop this?"

It should have stayed as a simple slip of the tongue.

"Oh, no Probie. This is too good."

'A slip of the tongue' is defined as a minor mistake in speech. That was all and nothing more. It was such a slip however, that came to redefine the very meaning of the phrase to poor Tim McGee one allegedly normal day at the NCIS.

What a morning Tony DiNozzo had had! The man was practically giddy—all thanks to Tim. Oh, there was no way he was going to let it drop, slide, or any other variation of verb that would get McGee out of this delightful doozy. It was delicious: the geek was at his desk, as usual, looking very sorry for himself. Tony might have shown sympathy but that just wasn't his style.

Not even when Tim was hunched over, red face in hands would Tony ever take the high road.

"…I don't know what you're even talking about."

"Fine, feign ignorance, McConvenientlyForgetful. Hey, you like stories. Do you want a transcript? Oh, well, let me remind you." Tony leaned in and cleared his throat; comical exaggeration. "After a particularly fun case, involving multiple dead Marines and a close encounter with a speeding truck… I thought nothing could make this day even better. But then, then came the cherry on top of the proverbial cake, McGee."

"God, just get to the point Tony," interrupted Tim. " I have a headache."

So, Tony was gloating. He had every right. For once he had the upper hand and had the power to make an already miserably repentant Tim, feel even worse. For once, he had the power, and McGee couldn't say a damn thing to turn this around and make Tony feel like a idiot. The usually snooty computer genius had nothing to say—nothing but weak denials and groans of mortification because yes—this was happening, and Tony was going to enjoy it.

Derailed in his efforts briefly by almost falling off of McGee's desk, which he had sat upon in order to observe the full spectacular, Tony regained posture and continued, leaning ever closer. All he wanted was to see put-together Tim fall apart and drop that irritating shield to become broken-down Tim. Like an interrogation.

Yeah.

Tony was good at interrogating.

Licking his lips in anticipation, like the wolf he was, ready to devour the prey, Tony tasted the words before letting rip the full-force of his gloating glory.

"You, my McTim…" Tony prodded him in the chest. "Had a very interesting conversation with our dear Abby today, didn't you? And certain… things were said. I get it. You were getting excited and then things that ordinarily might not have been said under normal conditions were said. Very good things."

Tim shuffled away and pretended to look through paperwork.

"Stop saying ' _things_ ,' please."

"No, I won't, because there's lots of good things to come."

Savouring the moment, Tony leaned over Tim's desk. Right over. Like a model in an 80's music video. The keyboard was awkward under his side but he didn't care about that small detail. People were starting to stare. None of it was going to spoil his fun.

"You and Abby were having a nice little girly chat weren't you? Drinking hot coffee. Talking about office crushes… ring a bell yet, Probster?"

"Abby has a big mouth," mumbled Tim, before finally freeing himself of the desk and moving to collect his things. "Look, Tony—you're acting like an even bigger ass than I thought possible. No, wait. Anything is possible."

Scoffing, Tony reluctantly dragged himself up and stood straight but still sporting that same old wry grin. This wasn't over. The clock may have chimed the hour, but that didn't mean this was going to signal an end to McGee's embarrassment as well as the day.

Tim was leaving.

Tim was zipping up his bag and taking a wide sidestep around Tony to beat a hasty retreat the hell out of there.

Oh, no Tim wasn't.

"'I don't know Abby. If we're gonna compare first impressions, I think I've got you beat.'"

That little quote stopped McGee dead in his tracks.

Tony could see the sweat forming on the agent's neck. And why did he want to lick it?

When Tim turned to him, there was a look of absolute terror on his face. Mouth was open slightly, and did he see a slight shaking to the bottom lip? Whatever he was seeing, it was lovely. Tony almost repelled McGee the moment the wide-eyed Probie reached out with pleading hands of a desperate man and grabbed him by the shoulders and whispered:

"Tony. Don't."

Tony paused. Grinned. Of course he would.

"'What do you mean, Tim?' 'I thought Tony was pretty hot…'"

McGee audibly swallowed, stepped back, well away from Tony. Then, he turned again, with a considerably deeper complexion on his face, to the elevator. He was mortified. If it wasn't quitting time and the building mostly empty by now, he might have screamed… or so, Tony liked to imagine. Making a scene was obviously not McGee's deal, which was unfortunate because it meant Tony had to race after Tim before the elevator doors closed. If he couldn't get an audience for this, then he'd do it in private.

Obviously, McGee tried to pretend nothing was going on during the short trip down. He stared forward, anywhere as long as he didn't have to look at Tony.

Tony, on the other hand, relished in this awkward ride, maintaining a causal, cool posture, leaning on the wall his hands in his pockets and his head tilted back. His head was inclined towards Tim.

This ritual silence continued up until the moment they both stepped off—together. As the ride ended, so did the silence.

"Come on McGee, I get it—" Tony's voice echoed in the empty lot, with the only other audio being the sounds of their hurrying shoes on the ground and the distant screech of tires in the distance.

"No, Tony. You don't get it," sighed Tim in frustration.

Finally! Tim stopped and turned to face Tony. Poor Timmy. He looked so… tired. He'd given up the fight and was willing to give in, much to Tony's disappointment—he wanted to tease him some more, but he couldn't if everything was thrown out there. The slip of the tongue was just a mistake, he was sure, but it was fun while it lasted.

"I've always been the geek, as you put it. And jocks like you were way out of my league… aw, shit."

"Out of your league?" Tony raised his brow, sky-high.

Tim sighed and immediately turned on heel and retreated to his car. Like that would protect him. He really didn't know Tony.

Holy crap. Maybe not so much of a slip at all, thought Tony, honestly shell-shocked. Well, now he really did feel like an asshole. But he couldn't help but still doubt Tim. Surely he was still just flustered? Not saying things he meant. Tony hoped so.

"Wait a sec. I mean, I know I'm no brainiac, but I know a thing or two… but this… I don't get it. What exactly are you getting at McGoo?"

"Please, don't make me say it…" he squirmed.

Tony could see it now. Tony's smile broadened. That arrogant, triumphing smile. He had him now. No way back for Tim, no way out. This was the end. The end of everything. Tim had been harbouring a little secret, and it was ridiculously good. Crossing his arms, Tony revelled in it.

"Timmy likes me," sang Tony.

"Fine, yes. I liked you," snapped Tim. He rolled his eyes. "As in past tense. Then you went and opened your stupid mouth."

Finally managing to get his car open with fumbling, sweaty fingers, Tim angrily tossed his bag inside and made his way to the other side. There was obviousness in his actions. Almost as if he didn't want to talk about this. Funny, that.

"Wow," Tony blinked; that was a hit. "That long, huh?"

"I'm trying not to get overwhelmed by your empathy."

"It's just… I am impressed, Timmy. You do have good taste after all!"

Tim, once inside his car, slammed his head against the steering wheel. It was an action that told Tony that he definitely regretted being so open with his co-workers. It was his own fault and he knew it. Confessing to an age-old attraction to a male co-worker was probably something not even a very intoxicated Probie would do much less a coffee-sober one.

It seemed to put an end to the conversation once Tim sadly slammed his door closed before Tony could say another thing on the issue. Tony, however, didn't know the meaning of the word quit. Anthony DiNozzo was a relentless pursuer of the truth, in work and life. Once he got his guy to crack, there was no stopping him, even if he had everything he needed.

"Timmy," serenaded Tony, knocking on the glass after having failed opening the passenger-side door to a quick lockdown at the last second. "Open up, Timmy-Tim. I'll just follow you home, and you know that I will… your choice."

Tim sighed.

Knock-knock-knock.

"Open. The. Door. McGee?"

McGee opened the door.

Once open, Tony grinned, but then shook his head as he opened the door to see McGee blatantly ignoring him; staring forward through the window and definitely not at him.

That pissed him off.

"I won't make fun of you anymore, alright? I'm sorry I did that."

Tim scoffed, a smile cracked; "No, you're not sorry… you've been following me around all day, with that… that stupid look on your face."

Tony exaggerated the expression.

"This stupid look? I need more information."

"Just… get in."

Tony blanked, raised a brow in suspicion.

"Are you gonna get in? Because I'm not gonna talk about anything with you out there with the cameras watching."

Scoffing, Tony took that as a hint and quickly got in the car and closed the door behind him. He could pick his car up tomorrow. Wait, what? Where was this going exactly? Now, Tony had made the choice. He was in the car with McGee, who had foolishly confessed to a chatty-cathy co-worker that he had a crush on Tony. Did… did he still like him? Suddenly nervous, Tony growled and rubbed the back of his neck where he could feel sweat forming. So… this was awkward. Maybe it was long over, and this weird silence was just remnants of embarrassment at Tony having found out?

Say something, Tony. Say something encouraging, and not stupid, for once.

Tim still wasn't looking at him, though his gaze had averted to his white knuckles gripping the steering wheel.

"So, you like guys, huh? That's cool."

Okay, so good start. Not too stupid. Hell, that was damn-near… nice. Even if it was about as subtle as Tony could manage. Tony took Tim's silence as confirmation. Reinvigorated, he continued on:

"I mean, come on… I do get it: someone like you can't afford to be picky. Me, I get the freedom of choice. Woman or man. You? You probably have to take whatever comes first."

"You. Are. Such an ass… what happened to not making fun of me?"

Okay, so that was less nice, Tony.

Tony could practically feel Tim's glare through the side of his face.

Defensively, Tony raised his hands in an attempt to take back what he just said as what he meant it as: a mean little stab, like always, and nothing more.

"Alright, alright, I said I'd be nice. I lied. You should know me by now, Timmy."

"No, I should have known better than to think I confide in you. You never take anything seriously…"

"That's not true, Probie—"

"Oh, no? I beg to differ, Tony," said Tim, bitterly, turning his attention back to the window.

Tony had to surrender; he could see how every little thing he said was not helping. Was he still trying to tease him, or had it transcended to an actual talk? He couldn't tell, and the two became melded at some point.

"I'm trying to… I don't know… be honest here, since I think it's the best thing to do, and all I get is laughed at. Real nice, Tony."

Tony couldn't say anything. It was true: he was only pissing off and/or hurting Tim here. How often did they really talk about this kind of thing? He didn't know what he was supposed to do and/or say! He was in strange waters, and with every little word, further sinking in to the murky depths, dragging his friend with him. It wasn't fair. He should never have tried to make fun of him, knowing how sensitive his Timmy was.

"Look, are you gonna go? Because we're gonna get locked in here. Go back to your own car, Tony. Let's just… forget I ever said anything. In fact, let's forget today ever happened—"

"I don't think I can, McGee," Tony said through gritted teeth.

This was all becoming very tense, very fast. Not at all what Tony pictured. But then, what had he pictured? That they'd be all happy and smiles and be closer from now on? Maybe. Not like that was going to happen now.

Shaking his head, Tim breathed a heavy, weary sigh of frustration; he'd had enough of Tony and his games, and so reached over him with no small amount of hesitation. The door was opened, and it stayed open.

"Tony. Please, leave."

There was firmness to his words that had Tony actually flinch. Had he really pissed him off that much? That wasn't the plan at all. He had to apologize before anything else could go wrong.

"Tim, I…" Tony's mouth went dry; he had nothing to say.

Floundering like a dying fish on the sand, in Tim's car, Tony felt the heat, and it was a heat of his own embarrassment, flushing his cheeks. Giving up on the apology idea before he wrecked Tim further, Tony adopted a droopiness that told of his sorrow, and exited the car as slowly as possible, letting Tim know that it really wasn't what he wanted to do, but he was doing so only because it was Tim's wishes. And he loved his Timmy.

Somewhat despondent, he stood there, and lethargically stepped aside while Tim's car made its leave, with Tim still inside. He watched, while inside him a growing bubble of regret built up. If his damn tongue hadn't been so unusually clumsy, and his brain slower, he might have been kissing McGee right about now…

How Tony ended up knocking on McGee's door two days later, he'll never know, but since things had calmed down since that night, he figured—no, he hoped—that Tim had forgiven him. It was all professionalism at the NCIS, but there was something off. Something unsaid, and Gibbs had obviously noticed, giving both Tony and McGee the suspicious glares. So, if for no other reason, he was there to smooth things over, so that the operation ran without any hitches in trust.

But, damn Tim and his brains; he knew Tony was at the door long before he did, no doubt.

He knocked and knocked.

"Come on, McNobodyHome…" he called through the tiny crack at the floor.

The door opened with Tim, looking down at a slightly shamed Tony with his face on the floor. When he finally stood, he dusted himself off and grabbed hold of his pride; he looked good after all, it would be a disservice to all if he went around with dust on his jacket.

Tim, however, didn't appear too confident, stopping Tony before he could make his grand entrance in to Casa De Tim.

"Oh, come on… I came all this way to see my Probie, and look: I brought a peace offering."

"Pizza and alcohol aren't peace offering, Tony," argued the stubborn Tim. "They are recipes for a heart-attack. What do you want?"

Clutching the pizza box under one arm and a six-pack in the other, Tony smiled and shrugged: "To see my Probie. Thought I made that clear."

"But why?"

"Do I really need a reason?"

Suspicious, Tim eyed Tony up and down. "Well, forgive me for questioning your motives, Tony, but your motives are never just without reason."

"Alright," Tony said slowly, giving up on the coy routine. "I came to apologise. Happy now?"

"I'd be happier if it were true," Tim shuffled, crossed his arms.

"Look at me, McGee," Tony said, flapping his arms the best he could, exasperated. "I'm on my knees…" he kneeled down with some effort. "Besieging my favourite McGee of all the McGee's, to thus find it in his very big heart to—"

"…Or if you knew what you were apologising for."

Something flashed across Tim's enigmatic features. A frown? A moment of weakness.

"Tony… just… get up, you're being ridiculous. Come in before you hurt your pride anymore… or your knees."

Gratefully, Tony sighed and lowered his head. He clambered to his feet and sheepishly went inside, brushing passed McGee with utter sensitivity, and quickly moved to where he could relieve himself of his burdens, placing the so-called peace offerings in the kitchen, while also taking the opportunity to shrug off his jacket. He was still wearing his shirt and tie.

Tim was wearing a button-down shirt and slacks. He looked… somewhat comfortable, but closed the door with a certain obvious impatience.

"So," said Tony. "Nice place?"

"You've been here before, Tony," sighed Tim.

"Right, right. Don't remind me."

Tim, meanwhile, moved to shut off his computer; it looked like he wouldn't be getting this chapter done tonight.

Was Tony going to find the right moment in time to cut to the chase? He'd already apologised… sort of. Now he was just standing there, middle of the room with his hands in his pockets. After what happened last time, he was measuring himself. If his damn tongue worked out of time again, it would only serve to make for a rough coming week.

But… what else could he do but cut right to the chase?

"Tim—"

"What, Tony?" McGee cut in, shifting around him towards the kitchen.

Tony followed, cautiously.

"What you said to Abby…"

"About? I have a lot of conversations with Abby, Tony. You might have to be more specific."

If Tony didn't know better (and he could see McGee's face, which happened to be in the fridge) he could have sworn that McGee was now the one playing with him. But Timmy wasn't the type, was he? Now came the awkward part. Again. Before it was funny, now it wasn't. He had to address an issue he'd never had to deal with before. With women, it was easy. He could read them. Tim was considerably not woman. How did he ask a man whether if he was attracted to him?

Clearing his throat, Tony leaned on the counter and decided to play along.

"The conversation where you were discussing who in the team you had the biggest crushes on… and you said, Anthony DiNozzo… come on, McGee, keep up."

"Before your head disappears right up your own ass, Tony," Tim groaned. "This wasn't about you. I've… liked guys before; so don't start thinking you're that hot."

There was the smile. It was almost bright. Tim had gotten over the little slip and even found it amusing. Well, this was great! It meant Tony could stop floundering, because that wasn't his style. He was free to speak his mind and ask away. After all, they were both adults here.

"Not that hot, eh?" Tony grinned, raised a brow. "So you do find me hot? Called it."

Tony would have done a little dance but he was trying his best to behave tonight. Instead, he made a little basketball in the hoop gesture before continuing, ignoring Tim's eye-rolls.

"Oh, really?" questioned McGee."

He's definitely almost smiling now, beamed Tony. Of course, Tony was notably unsteady of foot at this point, and found himself leaning right across the kitchen counter before he fell over from over-excitement.

McGee leaned on the opposite side.

They stared.

"Yeah, you see… it actually explains a lot. I mean… a _lot_ , okay?" flailed Tony.

Tony was on a roll here; he had broken through the awkwardness, managed to make Tim smile, and everything was fine. He could quit pretending to be sensitive now.

Tim's brow raised in question, and he responded with a daring: "Oh, how so?"

Okay, so Tim was no longer embarrassed. The time for teasing was not now. So, maybe a little honesty?

"Oh, come on McClosetCase," said Tony. "First, your inability to form a long-term relationship with any woman that doesn't involve the term 'friend-zone,' second: your reliance on fantasy worlds in order to detach yourself from the depressing reality… you are nearing forty, and running out of time to find that special someone. I'm thinking that, as much as you make a point of noticing how damn obvious you are around Abby, or… well, any woman that you meet, let's not sugar-coat it. You, Timothy McGee, are painfully desperate to get a woman—any woman—before any questions can be raised about your sexual identity. And when they reject you, and they always do, you mope around because you know that sooner or later you'll end up alone. Bang. Got ya. Dead to rights."

"Well, Tony. Those are all valid points—and, surprisingly perceptive—but, let me offer this as a rebuttal," he said, raising a finger. "Number one: I am not gay. Number two: I am not desperate. There's always time to find the right someone, but—and this is a big but—" Tim was almost serious in expression. "I hate to remind you of your own, special, predicament."

Tony frowned. He wasn't going to like this, he knew.

"You are older than me. You chase women like cats chase rats, only you don't succeed. You're never going to settle down because you don't want to. You are always prowling for the next one-nighter to the point where its become an expectation of you. You aren't Tony if you aren't womanising. And do you know what? I think it's you who's the lonely one. I'm happy here, until someone I really like comes along. But you? It's really sad. Are you ever gonna grow up, Tony? I mean, yeah, at first, I saw you and I thought: 'He's really nice-looking, I wonder if…' and then you started speaking," Tim laughed, resentfully. "You're projecting, by the way. You're living in a fantasy world—not me—where you run around and chase the dreams of an eighteen-year old just to make damn sure that no-one ever sees the real Tony. Because I think that it takes a lot of effort hiding your true emotions. It takes a really insecure person to do that to themselves, Tony."

So, this had turned in to name-calling in a way? Tony should have known that Tim wouldn't let him insult him and not be insulted in return. Damnit. And the worst part? Tim was right, and… that sucked. Swallowing the bitter taste on his tongue, Tony pushed himself up in to a straight standing position. Best not offend him again.

"So… you're _not_ gay?" Asked Tony, who looked up at Tim, blatantly ignoring the throb of hurt inside.

"Tony…"

Tony shook his head and breathed; he might be ready to explode. It took a shake of his limbs to prevent that and he was back at Tim, offering him a beer.

Tim looked at him, in a sad sort of puppy-dog eyes kind of way, but accepted the bottle even though he obviously didn't want to. If it made sad, fake, lonely Tony happy, then why not, right?

Words exchanged, Tony was worse off. Battered and bruised internally, he followed Tim around like a sad hound, all the while keeping that mask of Tony up and running as they moved to sit together. It was an awkward arrangement, and at times like these, Tony wondered why the hell Tim didn't have a couch, but sat with a tamed calm. There, he looked down, playing with the label of his untouched beer.

"You're wrong, by the way," said Tony, quietly. "I do have emotions, and they aren't as buried as you might think."

Tim looked at him, and studied him quietly for a moment before looking down.

"I'm sorry I said that," said Tim. "But you gotta admit: your personality is a little manufactured. So, what happened? Did you get hurt?"

Tony scoffed and shifted slightly to turn away.

"You're wondering what happened to make nice Anthony DiNozzo want to hide himself behind this pretty damn handsome face?" Tony blinked. "Nothing. This is all me, Probie-baby. You want to know what's going on inside me; all you have to do is ask. I may not be an open book, unlike you, but I'm not some kind of unfeeling monster."

"I didn't mean—"

"It's okay," interrupted Tony. "You weren't wrong."

Tony placed his beer aside and then reached over, took Tim's beer and moved it away with it. Then he turned his chair to face Tim. His face was no longer quite as bright as it had been earlier that day, but it was not as defeated as it might have been, if Tony didn't know Tim meant well by his words. Otherwise, he might be punching him right now.

Instead, he kissed him.

It wasn't anything major; Tony's hands went to gently take Tim's face, and inwards he leant, to brush his lips against Tim's.

Tim panicked—weakly—his hands came to grab Tony's, either to pull him away or plead him to stop, brains weren't functioning right now.

All eyes were closed.

It was quiet, but sure on Tony's part. Determined. Technically correct, lips on lips, no bashed noses. But special. Slow. Meaningful. Not just another joke. He pulled away as respectfully as he could, keeping his hands on Tim's face, eyes opened to gauge his reaction, and bingo…

Tim's fingers were shaking, his eyes were darting.

Tim liked it. Tim's tongue emerged from his mouth in subconscious, licked at his own lips.

"You 'kay, Timmy?" Whispered Tony, hoarsely.

"Ha," Tim chuckled, nervously. "Are _you_?"

"I'm just fine, McNervous."

Smiling, Tony finally removed his hands from Tim's reddened face, and slowly leaned back to look at him. Poor Tim was obviously shaken. Still, he hoped it made a point… whatever that point was. He was feeling pretty hot himself. And something pricked behind his eyes, he wasn't sure he liked. But he certainly liked the warm, pliable Tim, and, since the man didn't pull away or react in horror, Tony got the feeling the Tim liked it too, which was always a start.

"Thought you weren't gay?" Smirked Tony, crossing his arms.

"I'm… bi, now," said Tim, leaning back and wiping his sweaty hands on his pants.

Nodding, Tony waited a few seconds.

Tim seemed okay. There was a hint of a smile, and he was a hard time meeting his eyes, but he kept trying to, and Tony took that as a sign to kiss him again.

"Tony, wait—" Tim gasped, and responded this time, grabbing Tony's hands before he could re-enact the scene.

Staring, Tony blinked, but respectfully withdrew, but kept his face close, and his hands on Tim's forearms, stroking his thumbs slightly over the material.

"Something wrong? Thought you liked me."

"I did—do! But, Tony…"

Confused, Tony followed Tim's eyes wherever they went to try and avoid his, leaning closer as they did, as far as pressing his mouth to the side of his face, earning a quiet whine of reluctant approval from the Probie.

"Tony…"

"Hmm?" Tony smirked, steering his chair closer.

By now, Tim really wasn't trying very hard to get away, so Tony, being more sure of himself, pried Tim's legs apart with his own knee, and threaded a hand back through the fine threads of hair at the back of Tim's neck, trying very hard to pull Tim's stubborn lips back to his own. Not playing? Too bad, Tim. Tony kissed elsewhere; chin, ear, jaw, before finally nuzzling hard in to his neck, clutching at his lower back with his other hand, he pulled Tim against him.

"Mmm—Tony—No. This is…"

As Tim tried to turn his head the other way, Tony took his chance; captured Tim's lips with utmost eagerness. Kissing him, breathing hard. Asking for entrance. A part of Tim obviously responded, as a brief break in his lips send Tony's tongue diving. It was hot, wet and hungry. Exploring every inch of his mouth, Tony chased Tim's slippery tongue with complete desire awoken. It went on and on, until a point came where breathing was becoming an issue.

Heatedly, Tony broke away from Tim with a wet thread breaking between his busy tongue and Tim's.

Both faces were red, but only Tony's was smiling.

"You… can't believe…" panted Tim, hands weakly clutching for Tony—for him.

"What, Tim?" chuckled Tony, keeping in close contact.

He pressed his forehead to Tim's and breathed in time with him, until they both calmed down.

"You… not gay?" His wet eyes moved to meet Tony's.

"Words, McGee. Use your words," softly murmured Tony, stroking him.

Nodding, Tim chuckled; a heavy release, and pressed his face against Tony's shoulder.

Tim didn't say anything else, lest his tongue slip again.

"I like _you_ , Timmy, I know that much. Forget labels."

Tony welcomed Tim in to his arms, and for a long time they embraced—a mutual spell of denials and pulling pigtails broken. Perhaps Tony had always wanted this, he couldn't be sure. It was something he was prepared to think about, if Tim wanted.

END.


End file.
